You Don't Have to be - But It Helps
Only the insane
take themselves quite seriously - Lord David Cecil
by D. Grant DeMan
Brine sat corpulently hunched over his coffee next to me in the booth,
the badge on his navy cap so dirty its insignia was rendered obscure. An
equally tarnished medallion hung on his gray chest like a dog-tag. He and I
formed that morning's remnants of the Breakfast Club, an eccentric group
that regularly met there. He glanced sidewise: "You were talking about how
you minded your folks who just died. They were lucky. A guy like me never
gets a decent place to live. I think it was Robert Frost who said that home
is the place where, if you go there, they have to take you in. Well that
place is no place for me."
"You're Bahai, aren't you? Saw you up at Bill Brewer's slide show at
Nini's the other night?"
"Even those folks cringe when I sit on their furniture."
"Well I think that's pure bull. I got a room for you, the suite vacated
in my house by my late mother."
"Yer joshing."
"Let's get packed, Brine."
He moved in, one chock-full black trash bag at a time, carefully
stringing stereo wire, dumping a thousand eight tracks. Since he rolled his
own cigarettes, the broadloom became strewn with debris. He must have saved
the washing of those dozen pairs of jeans for a year. One day I caught him
looking in a mirror, "God Oh God, am I ugly," he remarked, massaging his
salt and pepper beard. "Y'know I think it was a woman who told Churchill:
'Sir, you are drunk!' and he said right back, 'Madam, you are ugly, and I
shall be sober in the morning.' My God, I'll be this ugly until I die."
In poured a stream of friends who oohed and awed at the new digs,
playing and trading tapes, for Brine's commercial bent gave him an edge in
any deal. From his social worker I learned all about schizophrenia, and
knew he was sizing me up for more roomers.
Pay day came and off Brine marched to the minimart, sandals dragging in
the roadside gravel, but his sack of goumet treats were soon gone.
Subsequently, my daughter and I were dining on fried chicken when I saw his
drooling face pressed slug-like against the glass door. "Come in - join us,
Brine," I beckoned.
Later, sitting at the table, he spoke: "Y'know, if you - being a fine
cook and all - dishing up grub for me you could make a few bucks as well. I
got it all figured out here on paper."
I was amazed at the math: "You seem to know your numbers, Brine. How
come?"
"My finest attribute was as an accountant for the biggest finance
company around, became manager of the western branch. Working around the
clock, one time I rushed out of a bank and dropped a fin down a storm
drain. Well sir, I fished around in that sewer until I was blue, and then I
stepped back and realized....."
"You realized? Realized what?"
"Now sir, I says to myself, you forfeited a little money down there,
but what you are really losing is your life down the cesspool of big
business. I came to that realization."
"And?"
"I quit and wandered the world for years. Broke and hungry, I sees a
sign which reads 'Mental Health' and I relate to this counselor how my life
was flushing down that finance company commode."
"He gave you hope, Brine?"
"He open-mouthed gasped at me then exclaimed, 'You went and quit that
job! You gotta be crazy to quit a job like that!' and I jumped up like
this..." Brine flung both arms over his head, hands to the ceiling. "Why do
you think I'm here, you fool. Why in the world do you think I'm
here?."
"The upshot was that he immediately diagnosed me insane. I got a
pension, and pills," he explained. "Now about this room and board thing..."
Brine stayed for months in which he was joined by others who also
enjoyed my cuisine. As he was about to leave for Victoria, taking a ride
with the family of his room partner, the young man told him, "Brine. Mom
says if you don't take a bath she's going to make you ride on the back of
the pickup."
Brine could not make that shower work and we had to do it for him. "My
gosh Brine, I suspect you never before ever took a bath in all your life!"
said the boy.
Months later he returned and I'd see him shuffling down streets alone
or working flea markets. Then he just somehow drifted - faded off the face
of the earth. But it seems his quotes and jokes carry on in this house, and
every so often I see a greasy ghostly character waving his arms:
"Crazy! Sure!! Why in the world do you think I'm here?"
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